Corpse March

Chapter 45 Sheer Heart Attack

Kuroko sits inside the dark car, sweating. Not from nervousness, but from the heat. She’s wearing something ladylike for once, a gorgeous sequined ball gown with a detachable bottom that lets it transform into a long dress. In spite of the open back and exposed shoulders, the sheer frilliness of the whole thing traps heat like a sponge soaks up water. 

As she takes a drag from her cigarette, the radio receiver in her hand suddenly speaks up. 

“Kuroko, come in.”

“This is Kuroko, checking in.”

“Status report.”

“All clear so far. Phase one of the operation is progressing smoothly.” 

“Good. The payload is in the first floor bathroom. Set the bomb there, maximize structural damage, minimize casualties.” 

“Understood.”

Kuroko puts down the transceiver, extinguishes her cigarette, and retrieves a small handheld mirror from her pocket. It opens with a flick of her wrist. Using her own face as a basis, she begins to weave. 

In the distance, she hears intense guitar riffs blasting from the main gala.

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A tall girl watches over the entrance to the gala. She wears a simple button up suit along with a red handkerchief folded neatly in her breast pocket. One by one, person by person, she works her way through the line. Eventually, it’s the last couple’s turn. 

“Names?”

“My name’s Beatrice and this is my precious Orwell.” A blonde woman with her hair styled into drills and a little boy in an ill-fitting tuxedo stand waiting to be let in. 

“Age?”

“Ten years. Orwell is also ten years old.” 

“Keep the kid away from the drink bar but otherwise, you’re good.” 

Beatrice nods at the girl as she passes through the door. The gala has transitioned fully into a party with Haru on stage. Strange. She didn’t think Haru had it in her to speak in front of a crowd, much less play. 

The instant she sets foot in the gala, she instantly feels the pressure of dozens of vigilant eyes roosting on her. Flanking the entrance, at the edges of the crowd, and from the rafters above, Haru’s guards stand watchfully for any sign of trouble. 

Most dangerous of all, a girl with a green dress and a corpsman’s jacket stands at watch from the second floor. Asuka. Beatrice has to avoid her gaze at all costs. 

Blending into the masses, Beatrice hovers at the edge of the crowd and pretends to enjoy the performance. Which, in fairness, is a very easy thing to do. Not only are Haru’s skills on the guitar impressive, her stage presence is massive. Everything she does just screams ‘rock’. 

With one final, resounding guitar shred, Haru grabs the microphone and yells into it “MY NAME’S HARU HAMAMOTO, ADVENTURER MUSICIAN, ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR EVENING, TAKAKUMO!” She strikes a pose, blows out a few kisses, and does that kick-step that guitarists love to do all the way offstage. Perfect. 

The crowd begins to disperse into a buzzing swarm, one that Beatrice rides all the way to the first floor bathroom. She doubts Asuka could pick her out from the crowd. That means it’s time for her to make her move. 

She enters the first stall she sees and sets Orwell down on the seat, his lifeless body sagging backwards. Riffles and folds in his skin reveal the truth behind his existence as no more than a fabric puppet, now useless to its master. She plunges her hand through the stitching and retrieves something soft and plasticky. Pulling it out, she finds a small chunk of C-4, complete with a timer. She places it on the toilet seat and sets the timer for 2 minutes. Should be enough time for her to get away.

Beatrice doesn’t have to wait long before a security guard walks into the bathroom. She takes the stall next to hers. Good. In a feat of athleticism, Beatrice jumps the wall between them. Before the guard can even react, she quickly slams her head against the marble wall. 

Minimize Casualties. The reminder hits her like a speeding truck. She holds back just barely before her head collides with the wall. Just enough to not kill her, but still enough to knock her out. 

It’s here that the facade finally comes off. Seams form all over Beatrice’s skin before dissolving into strands of fabric. Hiding underneath the fake skin is a pair of green eyes and long black hair. The strands flow and pool like hair at Kuroko’s palms. 

Using the guard’s face as a basis, she starts to weave. Strands twine themselves into string, strings stitch themselves into a fabric, and the fabric layers itself into something indistinguishable from skin. The false skin then ripples and spasms, forming itself into a mask complete with contours and facial features. 

When she puts on the mask, she puts aside all notions of being Kuroko, and assumes her identity. She is a soldier, one of the 99 elites, she works under Haru Hamamoto, her wife Kagami Kentomi died recently. That half-formed profile will do for now. 

She makes a copy of the unconscious girl’s uniform and exchanges her gown for it. It doesn’t fit her perfectly, especially around the chest area, but that’s nothing a few on-the-spot alterations can’t fix. Her disguise is perfect. But just to be safe, Kuroko gives herself a once-over in the bathroom mirror.

That’s when the worst comes to pass. The bathroom door slams open and who else but Haru Hamamoto walks in. Even Kuroko’s icy heart skips a beat.

“Working hard or hardly working, eh?” 

“Hm.” Kuroko fakes a smile. “Working hard, ma’am.” 

“Good to hear.” Haru walks over beside the disguised Kuroko, leans KANNIBAL against the wall, and splashes her face with water. Suddenly, she starts laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just… man, I never thought I’d ever perform in front of a live audience.” 

“A dream come true, ma’am?”

“You know it.” 

Haru shakes her head, like she’s trying to wake herself up. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. It’s time to get to business.”

“Yes. Of course, ma’am.”

Kuroko tries to leave but Haru picks up KANNIBAL and blocks the way with its immense bulk. 

A beat. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. I cannot return to my duties with you blocking the way.”

“I know it’s you, Kuroko.”

“...Hmph.”

All bets are off. Kuroko releases her magic and the mask melts back into an amorphous blob of string. It falls off in chunks and hits the floor before fading away. 

“How did you know?”

Haru taps her ears. “I recognized the sound of your heartbeat the moment you stepped into this place. That, and your little friend didn’t have a heartbeat.” 

“Your sound sorcery has improved since the last time we met. Congratulations.”

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” 

“I suppose you should.” 

“Anyway, there’s nothing left for you here. Asuka’s got your associate upstairs on lock.”

My associate? 

“My true goals are beyond your understanding.” 

“Tut-tut. I’m not finished.” Haru licks her lips. “I can hear that little bomb of yours beeping away. Whatever your goals are, all I have to do is defuse it, right?”

“Hmph.”

The steely gazes of two apex predators clash in midair. 

Kuroko lowers herself into a stance halfway between a puppet with cut strings and a ninja. “Business as usual?”

“You know it.” Haru lifts KANNIBAL onto her shoulder and gives Kuroko a grim smirk. “Shall we dance?”

“Let’s.” 

One of the stall doors opens with a bang. Orwell’s duty to its master is not yet over. With a sweeping motion of Kuroko’s arm, the puppet’s body goes taut as it throws itself at Haru.

Her eyes reflexively flit to her side. In a fraction of a second, Haru swings KANNIBAL, cleaving the puppet in two. But in the same fraction of a second that her attention is directed away from her, Kuroko makes her move. 

Faster than lightning, she delivers a back kick straight to Haru’s chest. It meets its mark, rocking the defenseless Haru to her very core. It feels a little something like thunder exploding in her body. A grunt slips through her lips as she hits the wall behind her. 

Undeterred, Haru lets out a gut-wrenching growl and launches into a counter strike. She swings KANNIBAL wildly, but not thoughtlessly. Brutally, but fluidly. Every single cleave is aimed at Kuroko’s vitals. Over and over, she slices as she advances but Kuroko dances at the edge of her range. Her body constantly shifting from being rigidly taut to fluid like water.

But there’s only so much ground Kuroko can retreat to. Eventually, she finds her back is against the wall. Thinking on her feet, she turns on the nearby faucet and splashes water into Haru’s eyes. She can’t help but blink. 

She swings wild, giving Kuroko the opening she needs to evade, only instead of backstepping she opts to close the gap by sidestepping. As she does, she poises her fist and punches upwards. 

I hear you. 

Eyes still shut, Haru lets her sorcery take over and listens for the sound of the wind. She hears it. The speech outside. The noise of the crowd. Every single whisper that slips from lip to ear, and the vibration of the air molecules as Kuroko’s fist passes through them.

Haru flinches backwards just in time to make Kuroko’s punch miss its mark. There’s no time to even take a breath. Her opponent presses her advantage with her other arm. Kuroko tries to deliver a devastating right cross, but Haru’s ready for it. Rolling with the punch, letting the momentum spin her around, she delivers a backhand directly where she hears breathing. A crack. A concussion. 

Kuroko tries to roll with the blow but she’s not prepared for it like Haru is. She doubles over from the impact. Her jaw fractures. As though a hole had just been poked into her skull, her consciousness starts to leak out but she forces herself to stay lucid. Kuroko was mistaken in assuming that blinding Haru would leave her open. She won’t make the same mistake twice. 

Monomolecular wires burst from Kuroko’s fingertips. Without missing a beat, she stands back upright while making a sweeping motion with her arm, siccing the wires directly at Haru. With an almost listless impatience, her opponent interposes KANNIBAL between them. 

As the wires reach their apex, Kuroko pulls her hand back, creating a whipping effect so powerful that Haru skids backwards a few feet. She checks the damage. Five deep scratch marks have opened up on KANNIBAL. 

“Tsk. Playing dirty, are we?”

“All’s fair in war.” 

Kuroko raises her hand, resetting the wires before bringing her hand down, sending them forth once again. Haru’s ready for it this time. She lifts her ax up, facing the edge towards the strings as they fly. They cut deeply into KANNIBAL, but not deeply enough to hit Haru. And more importantly, the edge cuts back, and the strings fall to the ground, neutered. 

Haru doesn’t give Kuroko any time for reprisal. Haru runs up close. Closer than Kuroko expects. She tries to kick her away but she reads the movement and ducks under the flying roundhouse. Using her left hand, Haru pins Kuroko’s neck to the wall, and with her right, she drives the ax into her stomach. 

But it’s only a shallow cut. Kuroko’s hands desperately grab onto KANNIBAL’s sides, fighting off Haru with every ounce of strength she has but it’s no use. With every passing second, KANNIBAL tears into another centimeter of Kuroko’s flesh. 

“I told you hand-to-hand was useless on the battlefield.”

“Who said anything about hand-to-hand?”

“--!”

Kuroko lets go and KANNIBAL slams into her at full force. It hurts. It hurts so much her pain inhibitors can’t keep up. But it’s too much force. Not only does KANNIBAL slam into her, KANNIBAL slams all the way into the marble. Haru tries to pull it out but Kuroko is faster. She places her hands on either side of Haru’s head and weaves a simple loop around Haru’s neck. Kuroko’s on the verge of pulling but she remembers–

Minimize Casualties. 

Kuroko hesitates, and that’s enough for Haru. She wrenches KANNIBAL out of the wall and lets Kuroko’s body fall to the ground. It’s almost pitiful, watching her squirm like this. Tiny strands begin to worm their way out of Kuroko’s hands but with two quick swipes, Haru crushes both of her hands into bloody pulps underneath KANNIBAL’s sheer weight.

Spots of black and white dance at the corner of Kuroko’s eyes. What is this feeling? Like electricity dancing inside her wounds. Pain? Blinding and unbearable. This is definitely pain. She’s almost forgotten what it felt like, and yet, here it is, same as always. She does not scream. That, she’s forgotten. 

She stares upwards, at KANNIBAL’s shadow, moments from being brought down on her head, killing her. So. This is it. Death. Huh. Kuroko always wondered when it would come for her. In her mind, she always thought that death was something that would come violently but peacefully, for someone who didn’t mind living or dying. 

But there’s nothing peaceful about this. Something inside of her writhes. The dream that she was lent, it rages against the quiet night. Wrapped in chains as it is, it lights a fire inside of Kuroko. Is this what true resolve feels like? Steely and burning, like a brand. Inside of herself, Kuroko screams out. But she never expected fate to listen. 

“Ladies.” Someone opens the door. It’s a girl wearing a dress shirt, black slacks, and a lopsided half-cape that goes down to her waist. A wicked-looking rapier hangs from her waist. Haru, still heaving from exhaustion, lowers KANNIBAL as she turns to greet the newcomer. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“My name is Kazuko Kuzue.” She bows. “I’ve been looking for you, Tot-The-Rocker."

"I've literally never heard of you before." Haru squints at her, scouring every inch of her memory to try and decipher who this stranger is.

"...Ha." Kazuko runs her hand through her hair. "Somehow, I figured you'd say that. And yet I can't help but feel sorta irritated hearing you say that." She smiles with barely contained rage. 

"Maybe this will jog your memory…" She takes out a pair of glasses.